


Ruhe sanft, kleine Aster!

by princess_of_the_darkness



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cannibalism, Cliff metaphors, German poetry, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal is a snob, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Lots of it, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Only for a tiny bit, Pining, Poetry, That's ok, This is way too light for murder and cannibalism oops, Will Graham is a Cannibal, Will Graham is a bisexual mess, a little bit of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 10:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_of_the_darkness/pseuds/princess_of_the_darkness
Summary: Hannibal is new at Will’s school. Will pines and obsesses.There’s poetry and murder and cannibalism. It’s wild.





	Ruhe sanft, kleine Aster!

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Gottfried Benn’s poem Kleine Aster from 1912 which also appears in the story (+ translation). 
> 
> There’s a little bit of referenced/implied abuse and there’s murder and cannibalism (as in the tags). But it’s mostly about love.  
> Disclaimer: I am not American, I have never been to an American school, I have talked to maybe about a handful of Americans in my life so far. Oops. (I’m also not an expert on German poetry but I like to pretend I am)

There’s a new boy.

Will doesn’t know how he feels about him. When Mr. Crawford asked if someone could show him around, Will had been ready to crawl underneath the table. But then, _of course_ , Alana had offered a generous smile in his direction and raised her hand.

That night, Will had spent hours writing in his diary about how he’d seen them together in the schoolyard during lunch time, Alana fluttering her eyelashes at the boy.

He’s not jealous. There’s just something he thinks he saw that troubles him. He’s not quite sure yet what it is.

The boy’s smiles are slow, almost like he’s still calculating whether or not he should even show them. That kind of careful consideration makes something pull and push and tumble in Will’s stomach.

The boy looks like he could eat Will for breakfast. He thinks he might let him.

Whenever he sees the boy in class, Will has to try really hard not to pass him a note saying something stupid like _I bet your hands would look better wrapped around my throat._ He doesn’t know where this is coming from and he definitely doesn’t know whether he should worry or embrace it. In the end, he does nothing. He just ignores it. But something is lurking underneath his skin. He can feel it. Something is simmering in his blood and it’s threatening to boil over whenever he gets close to the boy.

 

\--

 

Will only has three classes with him: English, P.E., and German.

Getting through English is easiest because it doesn’t matter. They’re always reading some book or other in class. Sometimes it’s a novel. Sometimes it’s a play. It’s all the same anyway. One time they read a novella but Will can’t remember the difference between that and a short story.

Definitions of literature don’t make any sense to him. The words either touch him or they don’t. They either leave him teary-eyed with a heavy heart and what feels like a hole in his brain or they do nothing.

English is not the boy’s first language. That much is obvious. His voice sounds rough on the consonants but it never stumbles over words when he reads pages upon pages of literary analysis in front of the class. Mr. Crawford always has a hard time holding back the showers of praise for his _use of_ _stylistic devices_ and his _subversive approach to interpretation_. It’s boring, really; the strange and vaguely foreign new boy having a hard-on for literature. Almost unoriginal.

Will kind of likes that, though. Likes that he’s good with his words; that he’s smart, but in a way that _seems_ meaningless. Who cares about books, right?

But Will feels like he can see past that. He thinks he can recognize how the boy sees the world.

He takes his place on the sidelines, observing the world around him and the people within. He’s analyzing at all times, just as he does with the fiction they discuss in class, except that this is real life. He only participates when he can use it to his benefit. It’s fascinating how there’s always a mask on his face, how his rigid composure seems to be seeping out of his pores.

Will doesn’t dare to draw comparisons between the boy’s behavior and a predator watching its prey. He’s scared of the image his mind might provide him with. And he’s terrified of how he would react.

\--

 

P.E. isn’t as bad as Will had anticipated at first. He saw the boy entering the changing room on his second day at school and it had nearly given him a heart attack. After all, the boy is a lot more attractive than any 18-year-old has the right to be and Will can’t deny he has a thing for seeing sexy people work up a sweat.

The boy is sexy in an old-fashioned way.

He’s the cunning young heir to the family fortune who’s going to kill his father and run away to Europe with the money right before WWI will change his life. He’s a nobleman at Louis XIV’s court, about to secure a marriage to the most beautiful and important woman around while he not-so-secretly spends his nights at orgies, pouring wine into the mouth of the servant boy he’s currently fucking. He’s the tortured poet in the late 19th century who can’t decide whether London, Paris or perhaps Berlin is the most artistically stimulating city and the best place to live. He’s a philosophy student in the 60s, leading one of the countless protests against the war in Vietnam, rebelling against the system, against capitalism, ready to do whatever it takes to fight for what he thinks is right.

He’s one among many, nothing special, and at the same time he’s the most extraordinary boy that has ever existed. He looks delicious and terrifying at the same time.

Will doesn’t know a lot about Greek mythology but the boy could easily be one of those ancient statues come to life. Everything about him is so flawless it’s scary.

But that’s ok. Will can look the other way whenever he lifts up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. It’s fine. Will allows himself a couple of seconds to stare at the boy’s throat move when he’s emptying his water bottle.

The boy manages to beat every one of the athletes in class when they’re having a race but he makes it look as simple as reading a book. He’s sweaty and panting a little bit but there’s a smirk on his face and he’s not even red.

Will looks like a tomato after two minutes of volleyball. Nothing about it is fair.

The boy’s been at Will’s school for four weeks when he catches Will getting a glimpse of his naked back in the changing room one day, afterwards, when only a handful of boys are left. It’s really merely by accident but he must be mistaking it for Will checking him out because he responds with one of those careful smiles and a raised eyebrow.

Will knows that he’s not clearing things up by non-stop blushing for the rest of the day. But so what if the boy thinks he’s a homo. He’s not exactly wrong, is he?

 

\--

 

German is by far the worst.

It actually isn’t, it’s a decent class. Mrs Lass is a nice teacher and she has a soft spot for Will. He can’t stand it when teachers pay too much attention to him, he prefers to be invisible. But it’s ok when it’s her. He gets good grades without doing anything. Will couldn’t have asked for a better deal.

The new boy makes Mrs Lass’ class unbearable. It’s awful. Will is a mess just thinking about it the day before. The smiles are nothing compared to the way he makes German words flow out of his mouth.

Will had never considered it to be an attractive language before, not even particularly interesting, but this boy makes it sound downright _erotic_.

Maybe it’s just because he’s a teenage boy that Will’s so horny all the time. Or maybe it’s all the boy’s fault. Like when he’d worn a blood red shirt with almost half the buttons undone last week. Will hadn’t know how to take his eyes off of him and the glorious bits of his chest on display.

It reminds Will of back when Alana would bite her lip a certain way and it would make him get really hard really fast. Embarrassingly so. And then they would meet after school and have sex at her place.

It was fun, for a while. Then it stopped.

He’s not bitter that it’s over. He never was. But sometimes he misses her. When he catches a fleeting whiff of her perfume in school, for instance. Then he remembers how it used to smell so much more intense with his nose at her throat and his cock deep inside her. It’s a flowery scent with something sharp at the end. Will regrets that they didn’t last long enough for him to find out how it feels when she shows her claws. He bets it’s a feeling like no other.

 

\--

 

Will isn’t sure if there’s something _going on_ between her and the boy. He likes to imagine there is, likes to picture his strong hands gripping her hips and leaving bruises on her skin. He can see them talking after class sometimes but it always looks casual, friendly, unsuspicious, innocent. They never exchange looks or smiles like her and Will used to. But that doesn’t have to mean anything anyway.

The day before yesterday Will couldn’t stop thinking about them. Alana and the boy together. He had tried to close his eyes and go to sleep, tried to stop the images but in the end he’d just given in. He’d brought himself off in what must have been less than a minute with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth wide open. He doesn’t know whose name he panted when he came but he knows which one he hopes it was.

It’s scary to fall this fast for someone he doesn’t know. But there’s black magic behind the boy’s eyes. It’s pulling Will so close that he knows he won’t escape when he finally reaches him.

He’s fully aware that he’s just waiting for the inevitable now: He can feel himself tipping over the edge of the cliff, can see the water splashing, knows he’s getting closer and closer to diving in.

 

\--

 

They have to prepare a German poem, any poem, for class next week. Preferably recited, not just read aloud. It’s supposed to be practice for their pronunciation. Will thinks it’s bullshit. But then again, he thinks most of what they do in school is bullshit.

When he comes home, he googles _Goethe most popular poems_ and picks the shortest one he can find. It’s about love, he finds out after looking up the translation:

**In joy and in sorrow, be thoughtful;**  
**Long and fearful in suspended pain;**  
**Rejoicing to heaven, grieving to death;**  
**Blessed alone is the soul that loves.**

 

He doesn’t fall asleep for hours that night. Instead, he spends what feels like days thinking about those lines. About how he feels just like this stupid German poet describes.

“ _Rejoicing to heaven, grieving to death_ ”, how fitting. But it’s not all true, he thinks. His soul feels tortured and cursed, the exact opposite of blessed.

He’s not even sure he loves, though. He desires, yes. He’s attracted, yes. He’s intrigued beyond reason, yes. But love is too strong of a word for someone he’s never spoken to.

Or maybe it’s just right. Maybe this is _love at first sight_ , maybe fate pushed him over the edge of the cliff and the boy is waiting for him in the water. Maybe he’ll die the second he touches the surface.

Will dreams of bathing in a sea of blood when sleep comes, eventually. There are warm hands resting on his shoulders and pushing him under whenever he comes up for air. He likes the weight of them.

 

\--

 

“This is called, uh, _Klärchens Lied_. It’s by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe but it’s not a, uhm, standalone thing?” he says.

It’s a week later and Will doesn’t want to take his eyes off his hands.

“It’s from the play _Egmont_ that he completed in 1788 and it’s a very popular quotation. So. Uh.”

Will looks up. Mrs Lass gives him an encouraging smile. He can only focus on the boy. They’ve never made eye contact like this before, for more than three seconds and it feels amazing now. The boy licks his lips, slowly. His eyes zero in on Will’s mouth.

Fine.

Challenge accepted then.

So he starts:

 

“ **Freudvoll**  
**Und leidvoll,**    
**Gedankenvoll sein,**

 ** ** **Langen******  
**Und bangen**  
**In schwebender Pein;** ”

Will makes sure not to take his eyes off the boy. There’s a faint tint to his cheeks and he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that the boy’s blushing because of him.

“ **Himmelhoch jauchzend**  
**Zum Tode betrübt –**  
**Glücklich allein**  
**Ist die Seele, die liebt.** ”

 

He smiles, forced, and goes to sit back down.

“Great, just watch that _ch_ pronunciation, alright? That was pretty good though. Now. Who wants next?”

The boy is already getting up. He takes his place in front of the board.

He offers a particularly slow smile and stares right at Will. Right through his eyes. Into his soul. He can feel himself melting and he has to admit that he likes it.

“This is _Kleine Aster_ by Gottfried Benn, first published in 1912. It’s rather well-known when it comes to Expressionist poetry:

 **Ein ersoffener Bierfahrer wurde auf den Tisch**  
**gestemmt.**  
**Irgendeiner hatte ihm eine dunkelhellila Aster**  
**zwischen die Zähne geklemmt.**  
**Als ich von der Brust aus**  
**unter der Haut**  
**mit einem langen Messer**  
**Zunge und Gaumen herausschnitt,**  
**muß ich sie angestoßen haben, denn sie glitt**  
**in das nebenliegende Gehirn.**  
**Ich packte sie ihm in die Brusthöhle**  
**zwischen die Holzwolle,**  
**als man zunähte.**  
**Trinke dich satt in deiner Vase!**  
**Ruhe sanft,  
kleine Aster!**”

 

By the time he gets to the end, Will is convinced the boy’s trying to undress him with his eyes and make him come from his voice alone. It’s almost working and that should worry him but it really, _really_ doesn’t. Instead he forces himself to grin at him. Show the boy he understands. Something just happened between them right then and there. Will isn’t sure what exactly. He’s excited for what will happen next anyway.

Just a shame he has no idea what the hell that poem is saying.

“Ah yes. That was very good,” Mrs Lass smiles indulgently. “German Expressionist poetry isn’t for everyone, I suppose. But this is a really fascinating one actually, here we can very clearly see the influence of Benn working as a mortuary assistant at a hospital in Berlin right before the war. Very interesting choice.”

Will remembers to quickly scribble down the title of the poem before class is over.

 

\--

 

He spends two days with his fingers itching to look up an English translation of that poem. He doesn’t.

The next time they have P.E., Will never takes his eyes off of him. Not for a single second. He can tell that the boy notices immediately.

At least it’s obvious he’s showing off for Will now. There’s some very deliberate bicep flexing and the way he keeps running his hands through his hair is something else entirely. It’s driving Will crazy. He might even be throwing a wink in there once or twice.

Are they flirting? Will doesn’t know. His insides feel weird and he’s not sure he can trust his gut. He tries to figure it out before class is over. He fails. He has to admit it’s kind of disappointing.

But then Will finds the answer when he opens his gym bag.

There’s a purple flower wrapped in a piece of paper. Will stares at it for a couple of seconds. He can feel his heart beat speed up. There’s not really any question as to who it’s from.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. Whatever this is, he can’t look at it here. Not before he’s all alone. So it has to wait, possibly until after school. He sighs.

 

\--

 

“Hey Will,” Alana says when he runs into her before his next class.

He’s never seen her look at him like this before. There’s worry in her eyes but he can’t tell whether she’s worried for him or for herself _because_ of him. Probably both.

“Hi,” he says, avoiding her eyes. “How are you?” he forces himself to add.

She shrugs. “I’m okay. But you’re _not_ , are you?”

Will stares at her. He doesn’t even want to answer that, doesn’t want to talk to Alana. It’s gotten to a point where it’s nothing but pure frustration. He does it anyway.

“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” He grimaces. He knows he looks tired as hell because he hasn’t been sleeping properly for weeks. It’s hard when he can’t seem to shut his mind up.

She doesn’t look convinced but lets it slide. “Okay. You know, I feel kind of bad about everything right now. We used to be friends. Or at least hang out, even _before_. And I think I miss that.”

Her face looks soft, apologetic. Will really wants to believe her. But she’s so good at doing that; looking soft and ethereal when she’s actually anything but.

He wishes they were still having sex so he wouldn’t have to think so much when talking to her. It sounds harsh but she just makes his mind feel all jumbled up. Kind of like the boy does, too. But with her it only makes him feel helpless and small and stupid and messy. When _he_ looks at Will like he’s trying to suck his soul out of his body, he just gets excited. And maybe a bit turned on.

If he spent more time properly thinking about that, he’d probably realize that it’s not necessarily healthy either. But he doesn’t.

“Oh,” Will says. He looks down and nods slowly. “Yeah, you’re right. Haven’t seen each other in a while and all that.” It almost sounds sincere, even to his own ears.

She smiles a little at that. It looks sad but that’s still better than no smile.

“Exactly. I don’t-,” she pauses and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. Somehow he’s sure it’s a calculated move. She’s probably trying to make him look at her neck. See her vulnerability when it’s exposed like this. He has to admit that it still stirs something up deep, deep inside of him.

A part of Will wants to just go ahead and bite into that pale flesh right there.

“I don’t want to make any old feelings come back. I’m actually sort of in a relationship at the moment. So please don’t take this the wrong way. But this is our last year and I don’t want us to never talk and then just graduate and lose touch.”

She tilts her head in this special way of hers. Will sighs.

“Sure,” he says.

This feels surreal. Comical, almost. Definitely confusing. Will doesn’t really understand what Alana wants from him right now. They had barely known each other back then, before they’d started fucking.

He doesn’t think there’s any reason to act like they were ever even close to being friends when they weren’t.

Maybe this is just her feeling guilty. Something like her attempt at making him feel better, less lonely. She was the one to put an end to things after all. And it’s not exactly a secret that Will doesn’t tend to have a lot of friends. There _are_ people he’s cool with, people he can talk to. But most of the time he doesn’t really feel like it. He’s happy with the way it is but he remembers how she would always complain about him being so _isolated_. She had always tried to get him to go to parties or the movies with her; meet her friends whenever possible. He’d never wanted to.

“So, if we’re friends now…” Will says with an awkward smile. This is him trying to make an effort. Meeting her halfway or whatever.

“What’s that you said about _sort of_ _in a relationship_ , huh? Anything you wanna tell me about?”

Alana laughs. There’s something very indulgent about it. “Maybe.”

She doesn’t elaborate. So they just stare at each other for a while then. It’s less weird than it should be. The silence between them feels comfortable in some way. Almost nostalgic.

Sometimes, they would just lie in bed after sex, not talking for hours, just listening to the other breathe. Will had liked that. But he’d very much preferred the rough, relentless fucking that had come before (and sometimes followed, too).

“You can text me, I guess,” Will finally offers. “Maybe we can study together or something.” He feels his brows furrow. “If that’s the kind of thing you would wanna do.”

She nods with a grin. It might just be to humor him but it’s still nice in a way.

“I gotta go to class,” she answers, already turning around. “See you.”

Will doesn’t respond. Why should he?

 

\--

 

It turns out Will doesn’t need to look at a translation because the boy wrote one down for him. He’s not really sure what to think of that. The poem definitely gets to him, though.

                                                   

**_ Gottfried Benn: Little Aster (1912)  _ **

**A drowned drayman had been hauled onto a table.**  
**Someone or other had stuck a dark-lilac aster**  
**between his teeth.**  
**As I was cutting through his chest**  
**from under his skin with a long blade,**  
**to extract his tongue and palate,**  
**I must have nudged the flower**  
**for it slid into the brain beside it.**  
**As he was being sewn up,**  
**I packed the flower back into his stomach cavity,**  
**between the padding.**  
**Drink to the full in your vase!**  
**Rest peacefully,**  
**little aster!**

 

Will doesn't even need to use google to know that the flower is an aster. It looks very pretty but he does think it would look even prettier drenched in blood inside someone’s _stomach cavity_. That’s not the weirdest thought he’s had all day but it’s definitely up there.

Underneath the poem the note says _7pm_ followed by an address. And a breathtakingly beautiful signature at the bottom.

This almost gives Will ideas. He thinks he might like to see that name carved into his stomach.

Hannibal _. Han_ - _ni_ - _bal_. H-A-N-N-I-B-A-L

The boy hadn’t offered his name to Will before so he hasn’t used it yet. Now he wants to scream it. Whether during sex or while he’s being choked to death, Will doesn’t know. It’s kind of the same thing though, isn’t it? In a way at least.

Will’s pretty sure he heard somewhere that the French call orgasms _little death_. He has no idea if it’s really true, he doesn’t even remember where he heard it.

 _Hannibal_ probably does. He’s the kind of person to know this kind of unimportant but also interesting bits of trivia that make you feel both inadequate for not having known that and proud to be friends with someone who does.

7pm. That’s in two hours. Oh. Will absolutely doesn’t panic. Why would he.

 

\--

 

Hannibal opens the door with a kind of predatory smirk on his face. Will is already getting weak in the knees.

“Hi.” He’s trying not to stare at his feet.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal says. He’s wearing a long white apron over his clothes. There are three pink stains at the height of his upper thigh. Will thinks he probably made the right call, not eating dinner before he left home.

“You do realize this is really strange right?”

“What is?” They still haven’t made their way inside but Will feels only a little bit awkward standing there.

“This,” he says. He shoots a questioning look at Hannibal. “We haven’t talked to each other once in school. Ever. And now I’m here.”

Hannibal grins and takes a step back. “That you are. Why don’t you come in, then?” Will raises his eyebrows. When Hannibal walks inside, he follows him.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asks, surprisingly calm. It’s a very real possibility, maybe Hannibal is leading him into a creepy dungeons with knives on the wall and a plastic tarpaulin on the ground. Maybe that’s why he’s wearing an apron.

Instead, they stop in a beautiful marble kitchen. Something is sizzling in a pan on the stove and Will watches as Hannibal gets out a spoon He dips it in the dark pink sauce. “Here.” He holds it in front of Will’s face and stares at him expectantly.

Will opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue. Hannibal pushes the spoon past his lips. He hums around the taste and makes a show out of sucking on it for a couple of seconds. When Hannibal lets go, Will takes it out and licks it clean while staring him right in the eyes. He grins. “Tasty.”

Hannibal nods. “I know. I made it.”

Will laughs. “What exactly are we having?” A stupid smile is all he gets in response.

 

\--

 

“German poetry, huh?” Will asks and takes another bite.

He still doesn’t know what he’s putting in his mouth but it’s so delicious. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a kink for food but watching Hannibal eat is definitely _something_. Some strange, suppressed part of him hopes the food is actually something that should taste disgusting but doesn’t, only because Hannibal is such a good cook.

This is just really nice, all in all. Will has to admit he enjoys staring at his face. Enjoys it a whole lot.

Hannibal nods. Then he takes a sip of his wine. Pushes an imaginary piece of hair behind his ear. (Will tries not to swoon at how effortless it looks.)

“German literature is really quite fascinating. Except for Goethe. I don’t know how you did it but you managed to pick the one poet I don’t like.”

Will shrugs. It’s not a surprise Hannibal is a snob about this shit but it’s funny, he thinks.

“Luck, I guess.” He smiles. Then he watches Hannibal for a while. “You’re dying to tell me what’s so bad about _Goethe_ , aren’t you?”

Hannibal sighs and shakes his head. “You’re still not saying it right, Will.”

He’s a little bit ashamed but Hannibal’s condescending tone is really doing it for him right now.

“But it doesn’t really matter. It’s just- his writing seems so very pretentious to me. And he’s only really known for _Faust_ which actually isn’t the _be-all_ adaptation of the source material if you ask me. _And_ , most importantly, he seems to have been a terribly rude fellow to everyone around him.” He stabs a big piece of the meat on his plate with his fork and stuffs it into his mouth.

“Oh.” Will tilts his head. “You don’t like _rude_ people very much, do you?”

He feels so very bold. The way Hannibal looks at him every once in a while is wonderful. Will doesn’t want it to stop.

“No.” Hannibal looks really serious for a moment. Then he grins. Big.

Will can feel his eyelids flutter on their own accord at that. Shark teeth, he thinks. They look like they were _made_ to impale him.

“I wanna ask you something,” Will says, biting his bottom lip. Hannibal’s eyes seem to be glued to his mouth anyway, why not give him something to look at, he thinks.

“Sure.”

“Are we going to have sex?” He starts to slowly run his foot up Hannibal’s shin.

Hannibal thinks about it for a moment.

“Tonight?” He pretends to look shocked, his eyes comically wide and his mouth almost a perfect o. “No. This is our first date, Will. How scandalous would that be?” He tries to make his face look innocent and fails, spectacularly. It’s really hot, in the weirdest way ever. Will absolutely adores it. He nods with a smile.

“Good. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you put out easily. Reputation to uphold and all that, hm?” His foot is inching higher and higher along Hannibal’s thigh before finding its place right on his crotch.

“Third date, isn’t that the rule?” Hannibal stares right at his face and settles his hand on Will’s leg.

“Yup. Two more to go then, I guess.”

Hannibal slides his hands down to Will’s foot and presses it down, hard, on his own dick.

Will wiggles his toes. Then he throws Hannibal a wink.

“I should get going. My parents are out of town for the weekend so the dogs are all alone. They must be missing me already.” He puts his foot down and gets up.

“Of course. I understand.” Hannibal smiles and licks his lips. “I hope you liked the meal.”

 

\--

 

Monday morning, Will feels as good as if they’d had sex that night. Actually, he feels even better. He did just spent all of both Saturday and Sunday alternating between jerking off and writing love letters in his diary. No better way to spend a weekend, is there?

His mind is a bit hazy. But he’s still pretty sure that he gets to fuck Hannibal – or let Hannibal fuck him – after two more dates. Somehow the thought of both of these possibilities excites him more than the prospect of sex with Alana ever did.

Will imagines that Hannibal must be rough where she was soft. That he probably smells dark and heavy where she smelled light and sugary for him. Alana would always make these sweet sounds, moaning softly into his ear, no matter how hard he was fucking her.

He feels like sex with Hannibal is the exact opposite. He’s looking forward to the dirty talk, the filthy grunts, the dick he’s going to feel in his ass for days. But he has a feeling it’s also going to be tender. There’s a sensuality in Hannibal’s eyes that he knows he will love.  

Going to school with half a boner isn’t ideal but when is Will’s life ever?

 

\--

 

After his first period, there’s a surprise waiting for Will in the hallway.

“Hey, Will.”

He’s staring in the face of Margot Verger. She’s a girl he’s in Biology with and in the entirety of high school so far, he’s spoken less than ten words to her. She seems pretty nice. It’s just that her brother is the single worst person Will has ever met.

Mason is creepy as fuck. He’s grossly hit on every girl in every class he’s in. Rumor has, he’s blackmailed some of them into sleeping with him. There also seems to be a correlation between Mason being in a good mood and mysterious bruises showing up on his sister’s throat. Will tries to stay away from him but even he can’t help noticing what’s going on.

“Uh, hi?” He knows he must look really confused but she just smiles a sickly-sweet smile at him.

“Alana and I were wondering if you wanted to come our movie night on Wednesday?” She bites her lip. Now he’s really confused. He wasn’t aware that the two of them even know each other, let alone be friends.

“Wh- what kind of movie?” Will asks. He crosses his arms over his chest. He has no idea what to think right now. Why the hell isn’t Alana just asking him herself?

Margot shrugs. “Whatever you want. I know this is a bit weird but she told me you’re friends now. So I thought we could hang out together. What do you say?”

“Who else is gonna be there?” It’s not like Will has anything better do. Or like he’d mind spending more time with Alana again. Or getting to know Margot.

“A couple of people.” She hasn’t stopped smiling. It’s even brighter now. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

 

\--

 

Will doesn’t see Hannibal in school until two days later. He wasn’t in Mr. Crawford’s class on Monday but on Wednesdays they have German together. In a weird way, there’s something so exciting about seeing his face again. They share a couple of very intense looks while Beverly talks about the difference between _dass_ and _das_.

Will likes this. Feeling giddy like that; on edge when Hannibal is around.

His mind is acting like a 12-year-old with his very first crush and he’s basking in it. Knowing something is going to happen, that anticipation, it’s wonderful. He can’t get enough of it.

 

\--

 

At the end of class, Will has written a poem for Hannibal. He thinks it’s fitting, even though it’s only in English. Will’s German is way too bad for writing poetry. His handwriting is also not nearly as nice as Hannibal’s but he tells himself it’s got some sort of character. So Will folds the piece of paper in half, scribbles _Hannibal_ with a heart over the i, and passes it to him when everybody is leaving the room. He hopes Hannibal likes it.

 

\--

**_underwater_ **

_I’ve never seen someone like you_  
_I can only hold my breath_  
_I swear you make my lips turn blue_  
_I’ve never been less scared of death_

 _I’ve never played with tarot cards_  
_but I see my future bright and clear:_  
_I’m falling, falling, falling, hard_  
_I’m afraid I’ll fall for you, my dear_

 _I love the way you look at me_  
_like I’m made of stars and thunder_  
_behind your skin there’s more to see_  
_please let me deep-dive under_

\--

 

It turns out “a couple of people” means the only people Will ever talks to in school. And – because the universe either hates him or is madly in love with him – Hannibal.

Will has just gotten comfortable next to Brian on Margot’s couch when he sees him entering the living room. He looks stunning as always. Will licks his lips. At this point it’s almost an unconscious reflex of his.

“Will!” Hannibal says with a grin.

Those shark teeth. Will swears they will be the death of him.

“I got your note.” A smirk, “Thanks.”

Beverly looks at them. There’s a glint in her eyes. She looks like she wants to say something but then she just turns to Jimmy and asks him to pass her the chips.

Hannibal sits down. On the left end of the couch. Right next to Will. He’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a second. Suddenly, a hand settles on his thigh.

“Didn’t take you for a poet,” Hannibal whispers in his ear.

Out loud he asks, “So, what are we watching?”

 

\--

 

Almost halfway through _Twilight_ , Mason barges in. (Bella has just told Edward that she knows he’s a vampire.)

He turns on the lights and looks around the room with an ugly little smile. “Oh, aren’t you all _adorable_?”

Margot pauses the TV and turns to her brother. “Are you serious?” Her face looks hard but Will can hear a tremble in her voice. “I told you I was having friends over tonight.”

Mason nods and comes closer. “Hm,” he says. “Did you?” He pretends to think about it. “I don’t think you did, sweetheart.”

Will can feel Hannibal’s nails digging into his leg. He’s in very much the same state of mind. The air feels thick, suffocating. Will doesn’t like this at all.

Margot flinches when Mason leans in until they’re face to face. Her eyes are wide, terrified.

“I think-,“ he pauses, looks at Hannibal and Will for a moment, “we need to have a little chat in private, huh?” Mason slowly licks over his upper lip while he’s staring at his sister. Then he walks out of the room. His steps are quick but light and playful. He’s like a child on its way to an ice cream truck. Margot rushes to follow him. Everyone else is frozen.

Then there are muffled voices coming from somewhere in the house. Followed by a loud bang and Margot crying. Will can’t make out what exactly is happening. Something shatters, most likely a glass. Alana jumps up.

“I think it’s best if you leave.” Her face is a mix of worry and embarrassment. Of pain and anger. She looks _almost_ ready to kill someone

Hannibal takes Will’s hand and stands, dragging him up as well. He leans to Alana and whispers something in her ear. The others are getting up, too. She nods and shoots Hannibal a look. Will can’t decipher it. He doesn’t think he needs to.

When they’re outside, Hannibal is still holding his hand. Will doesn’t want to let go either.

Hannibal tilts his head. “Need a ride?”

 

\--

 

The car is warm, homey somehow. Something by _Placebo_ is playing. Will can’t wrap his head around anything right now.

“This is what you listen to? I expected classical music. You disappoint me.” He’s trying to joke, lighten the mood.

Hannibal just shrugs. He stares straight ahead while driving. They’re holding hands again. Somehow it’s nice, despite what they just left behind. But something is coming, Will can feel it. Something big.

 

\--

 

They’re almost at Will’s house when Hannibal whispers, “I want to kill him.”

Will is sure he must have misheard him.

“What?”

“I want to kill him,” he repeats. “Murder him. Mason. Strangle him, slit his throat, shoot him. I don’t care.”

He’s very calm for the words coming out of his mouth. Will admires that. At first. Then he realizes _why_ Hannibal might be so calm.

“Have you done this before?” Will’s brows furrow. He tries to look appalled. Or disgusted. Or scared. Or at least shocked. He can’t. He thinks he probably looks intrigued.

Hannibal’s little nod is small enough to miss it. Will doesn’t.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t know if he wants to find out more. Walking through that door could mean not going back. That’s for another time, Will decides.

“Can I-”

He swallows. It’s loud in the silence between two songs. “Can I help you somehow?”

Will isn’t sure what he’s asking. He can’t just kill someone, can he? He’d like to, if he’s being honest. But that doesn’t mean he can simply take someone’s life. Especially not someone he goes to school with. That feels like a step way too far.

Somewhere inside of him a voice is saying that he can. That this is what he’s been anticipating. What he was made for. The voice sounds suspiciously like Hannibal’s but Will doesn’t care. He’s already been falling for a while now. This is just what happens when he breaks through the surface of the ocean. It’s his decision whether he’s going to swim or drown.

 

\--

 

Hannibal stops the car in front of his house. He turns to Will with a smile. His face is only illuminated by a street lamp. Will thinks it looks glorious.

“Of course you can help,” he breathes. Then he leans over and kisses Will, hard.

It’s a nice kiss. A special one. Not perfect, far from it. But it feels like more than a kiss, it’s symbolic by nature. It’s like sealing a deal (with the devil). They’re going to do it. They’re really going to do it.

“Goodnight.” Will’s voice is shaky. He’s not sure why exactly. It could be the excitement and dread of what’s to come. Or just the high after sharing a first kiss in the dark. And that in front of Will’s parent’s house. They still have to be a proper teenage cliché after all.

“See you Friday?” he asks while getting out of the car.

“Yes, Friday. Goodnight, my dear. Sleep tight.”

 

\--

 

Will feels incredible when it’s done. He loves it.

“Ruhe sanft,” Hannibal whispers as Mason takes his last breath, “kleine Aster!”

Will stares at him. “That’s from the poem, isn’t it?”

 

\--

 

Can murdering someone together be considered a date? Will hopes it can. Seeing Hannibal this way is the best thing in the world. He’s so free, so dangerous. This is truly him. Everything that Hannibal is made of, inside. It makes it really hard for Will to control his libido. Or his heart.

“You look very beautiful like this,” Hannibal says, suddenly.

Will looks up from Mason’s face. It’s cold now, frozen forever in an expression of despair. “Like what?” he asks, smiling.

Hannibal reaches over with a gloved hand and brushes Will’s hair behind his ear.

“Powerful. Like a God almost.”

“Almost?”

 

\--

 

When Will sits on top of him in bed, his dick up Will’s ass, Hannibal suddenly starts laughing.

“What?” Will asks, confused, but happy anyway.

“It’s just,” Hannibal’s smile is blinding, “now you look like a God.”

Will buries his face in his shoulder. “Stop.” He laughs, too. “That’s really sappy. I thought you’d be better at dirty talk than this.”

“Maybe next time.”

Will nods enthusiastically, face still in Hannibal’s shoulder. He sticks out his tongue and licks a little stripe on the skin. “You taste really good.” He smiles.

Hannibal grips his hair and pulls him up again. “Will.”

“Hannibal.”

“Don’t get distracted. You have something to do, don’t you?” He looks pointedly at where his cock is located, deep inside Will’s body.

Will grins. He grinds against Hannibal. It’s slow, he’s drawing it out, and he relishes how Hannibal’s eyes fly shut.

Life is good like this. Very good.

\--

 

When Will wakes up, Hannibal is in the middle of making breakfast. He can feel his heart melt.

Will can’t believe what they did last night. It seems almost like a dream to him, but he knows it’s not.

“I wrote something for you, too,” is how Hannibal greets him in the kitchen. His voice is excited and it’s almost cute. Will doesn’t think he could be happier.

“I’ll read it to you.” Hannibal takes a piece of paper out of his back pocket. He grins.

 

“ _I’d like to eat your heart_.  
_Let me carve it out_  
_of your chest_  
_and let me take a bite._  
_I bet it tastes just right._

 _I’d like to steal the stars._  
_They’re no rivals for your eyes,_  
_but they shine too much,_  
_let darkness touch_  
_you’ll leave the pretty scars._

 _I have a knife_  
_you have a canvas_  
_of skin._  
_Sounds like a perfect match to me._ ”

 

“Does it have a title?” Will whispers. He’s in awe, star-struck, love-drunk, exhilarated.

Hannibal smiles, so soft. He’s never shown this on his face before.

“I think it’s called **_My little aster_**.”

Will can’t stop the grin that spills onto his face at that. He hugs Hannibal for a while. He could get used to this, he thinks.

Eventually he lets go. “So. Breakfast?”

Hannibal nods. But now there’s something almost shy about the look on his face, suddenly. He looks a bit like a schoolboy about to admit to his parents that he failed a test.

“About that… I think I need to tell you something. And I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, Will.”

“O-kay? What is it? Did you run out of eggs or something?” Hannibal looks a bit pained. Will is starting to worry now.

“It’s not really about what’s for breakfast and what isn’t. There’s just-, the meat, it’s. It’s very _special_ meat.” His voice gets deep.

Will shoots a look to the two plates on the table. Then he realizes with a start what Hannibal means. His jaw drops.

“No!” Will’s staring at him with disbelief all over his face.

Hannibal nods. And bites his lip.

“Wait, so-“ Will needs a moment to process this. “When you cooked dinner for us…”

He nods again. Sheepishly.

Will hits him on the chest. “You asshole! You made me eat that without saying anything, are you kidding me?”

He is grinning, though. He can’t actually be mad if he’s being honest. Really, he’s more excited than anything. This is hands down the weirdest thing he’s ever done. But something about it feels exactly right. Like it’s meant to be.

“Well.” Will sighs. “We can’t let it get cold now, can we?”

 

\--

 

On Monday, Margot sits next to him in Biology. For a second, everything that happened on Friday comes back to him. He panics. Then she puts her hand on his shoulder.

“We’re having another movie night on Wednesday. Gotta finish Twilight.” She smiles at him again. This time it’s not only disgustingly sweet but also thankful.

Will relaxes. “I’m in. Maybe Hannibal and I can make dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> The translation of Goethe’s "Klärchens Lied" is from the Wikipedia article on his play "Egmont" and the other one is from this website: https://gottfriedbennpoems.com/comparing-translations/ 
> 
> It’s super dope in case anyone is interested in learning about the intricacies of translating this specific German poet’s works into English and how it has been done before, or just wants to read more of his poems because apparently there’s not that much that’s been properly translated yet but on this site you can find lots of the 350+ poems he wrote !!  
> The translation I went with is one that the person (I think his name is Martin Travers) who runs the website made up because they weren’t satisfied with the existing ones and I agree that this is the best I could find. I know that y’all probably don’t care about German Expressionist poetry but I think Gottfried Benn is a very interesting poet and it’s super cool someone is so passionate about him (and about translating poetry) so check out that website :3 
> 
> Why is there even so much German poetry in this story you ask? Well, we read Kleine Aster about one and half years ago in class and it stuck with ¬me ever since, I guess. I realised that it kinda fits these two assholes really well and then I remembered we once had to recite poetry in French class in order to practice our pronunciation and somehow this was born, lol.
> 
> The other two poems are by yours truly. Will’s for Hannibal was written for a Les Mis fic that kinda died and I added a bit to make it fit better into this story. Hannibal’s for Will is one I wrote on the spot when I realised it would be kinda sweet if he’d write one, too. 
> 
> Also, what Hannibal says about Goethe is what I think about Goethe, projected onto him. Sorry not sorry, Goethe sucks. 
> 
> **Comments and kudos are very much appreciated and I will gift you with my undying love if you leave some !**
> 
> I hope everyone is having a great day and I hope you enjoyed reading this little thing I spent way too much time on! <3


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